Father Shock

Ok, so maybe this is a little dramatic…With all the suffering in the world even the worst of aliments pale in comparison. But pain is subjective and really just a matter of perspective. So, this is mine and this is how it continues to warp.

My son exists in limbo, somewhere in a realm akin to Lassie or Geppetto’s Pinocchio. While he is a real boy, there are only a handful of ways you can truly interact with him and most of the time you can’t be sure if he is with you or just amused by movements and sound.

The second thing my son gave me was this cold. We woke up one morning and found him even more pink and chubby than usual. He was really uncomfortable and visibly disgusted with his fist big cold. After suffering a few days with the fever and snot, he passed it on. In fact he gave it to my entire family and all their friends and significant others. I’ve never seen a common cold spread so uncommonly. It was like wildfire, leaving death and destruction in its wake. Or at least bed full’s of groaning adults and empty bottles of ‘Tussin scattered about.

Now, I’m pretty sure I’ve never gotten the flu from my dog, and I’m damn sure I’ve never caught a thing from a hand carve wooden puppet; even one that can dance and sing. So this whole episode really caught me off guard.

As I lay their sucking breath through clogged pipes, I realized I’m pretty damn high maintenance when it comes to relationships. I need feed back, validation, or at the very least a high five. I revel in the happy mess of family and favor deep friendships over casual acquaintances. So bonding with my boy is my minds single anticipation. This however was not the type of connection I was thinking of.

For now, I will take what I can get. If tossing around in bed, feverish and broken for a week allows me to see the world though his little peepers, then so be it. I apologize to the rest of you; collateral damage to my cause. You took one for the team, and in my twisted way I am grateful.

By the way, the first thing my son gave me was a new sense of vitality and an eagerness for the days ahead. I guess this is just another example of that gift springing to life.

I drive everyday. As a younger person I guess I was excited by my time behind the wheel, even years after hitting the road.  I let moments at red lights and in traffic jams just slip away into oblivion without a second thought. Seduced by the open road, freedom had its way with me and I was a most willing victim. Now it’s a different story. I grind my teeth more than the gears. At every turn there seems to be obstacles in my path; idiots on the road. Today as I drive, I spend most of my time practicing my adult vocabulary and doing finger calisthenics.

My wife has been on my case. I wouldn’t say that I have a “potty mouth” as she would so delicately put it. But I am familiar with the power of well timed obscenities. I started thinking about how I picked up this little ability; my vehicle vulgarity. A few weeks ago I took a ride with my father. He seems to have a similar problem. When he puts the key into the ignition, every idiot on the road immediately adjusts their course for collision.

As we drove, I could feel rage building inside me. And just as my brain was rustling up the appropriate curse, a string of four-letter words poured from my father’s mouth. They were so finely crafted that I could only sit in awe.

I got my stunning good looks and superior muscular physique (ensuing laughter) from my father. Could I have also inherited this ability as well? Some might say we learn by example while others would qualify this ability as adapting to the environment. No matter how you mash nature and nurture into the equation, the simple fact is I’m probably a lot like him and my son will probably be a lot like me.

I am grateful for and frightened by this at the same time. While my anecdote is designed to poke fun at a frustrating situation, the truth is that everything good in me comes from my folks. If I am anything like my father, than I am a lucky man. My hope is that my son can say the same. But what does that mean?

David Bly, a popular author said, “Your children will become what you are; so be what you want them to be.” When I consider all that I hope for my son, this sentiment becomes a pretty tall order. But there’s truth in these words. I’m thankful for those that led me, not just because they pointed out the path, but also because they showed me it could be traveled.

Who knows, my son will probably cuss at the bumpers of cars just like his father before him. He’ll most likely have a list of bad habits that at some level I will be responsible for, but hopefully I can show him what I was shown. Hopefully he’ll be like the best parts of me, and the best parts of my father.

Lately, I’ve been taking inventory of the stuff that bothers me. I’m underpaid, tired, overweight, and have no time to myself. Over the last few weeks, I’ve spent hours considering the details of each predicament, easily abandoning finer thoughts of things that bring me joy. Like many slopes, this is a slippery one. It doesn’t take long until most moments are shadowed in discontent.

Sounds dramatic I know, but a few days ago something simple interrupted my bender of self-pity.  My Grandmother knocked on my door at seven AM. She’s been doing this now for the last several weeks. Every Thursday she makes her way to my house to look after my son while I’m at work.

She has a quiet little routine she performs each time she comes into the house. She sets up her coffee and paper, checks in on my son, and then stands at the door as I leave, well wishing and locking up. This week as I stepped onto the patio I paused and realized how loved I felt and how grateful I am that my son lives at the center of a world where such wonderful people treasure him.

Each year at about this time my family gathers for Thanksgiving. Sometimes the tradition of sharing our appreciation for people or things in our life creates an awkward tension at the table; a pressure to produce a genuine moment of thanks on cue. While moments like this usually occur under more spontaneous conditions for me, this year I won’t struggle.

I am now living in a state of gratitude. I am thankful for my father who takes my son on long walks of discovery, my mother who showers him with love at bath time, my brother and his family that set many happy examples, and my wife for more reasons than I can mention. So many have contributed to the happiness of my son. For aunts that rearrange their work schedules and spend day after day fawning over my boy and for last minute grandmother babysitters…I am truly grateful.

It’s so hard to linger in the shadows with so many lighting the way… Thank you.